Defense Against the Sword Arts
by Lord Mendasuit
Summary: Dumbledore makes an investment that he believes is worth every knut he put into it. After all, every once in a while, you have to put some degree of stock in peerless idiocy, right?


The entire class was silent as Dolores Umbridge introduced their new teacher, a grimace of disgust clear in her face. The class was absolutely terrified. After all, the toad bitch was _nasty_, and if she found someone disgusting, it was either a good thing (Rarely was anything about Fudge's undersecretary a good thing) or a horrible thing.

And given the hulking behemoth covered from head to toe in black and looking not unlike the Grim Reaper on steroids (not that the majority of the class knew what steroids are), it was unlikely to be a good thing.

Harry Potter, Defense Against The Dark Arts expert in Gryffindor, found himself smiling. Because in his mind, nobody could possibly be worse than Umbridge. Incidentally, he saw that his friends, Ron and Hermione, were also smiling, glad that the Toad Bitch would no longer be ruining their educations. They could now get something akin to decent teaching which would in turn improve Dumbledore's Army's usefulness.

"This is your new professor." The toad bitch spat, disgusted with her own words. "Jack Rakan."

The man's right arm shot to grab the center of his chest, and with a swift and powerful movement, he ripped it off, tossing it into the air. Oddly, it was completely undamaged when it landed. A nice trick. Like most had expected, it was a man. A man who happened to be a mountain of muscle like no one ever saw before. His chest at shoulder level was almost three times as wide as most of theirs, and they'd noticed that the ceiling and door were both higher to accomodate his obscene height. Hogwarts treated her teachers well after all. "Yo! I'll introduce myself the right way." he said, shooting everyone a grin as he grabbed Umbridge by the back of her robes, making her yelp in surprise, before tossing her out the door.

The entire class instantly loved him. Even the Slytherins, and they were asses. Because the sound Umbridge made when she landed had been sweet music to even the most hardass blood purist.

"My name is Jack Rakan. You might know me as 'The Immortal Fool', 'The Thousand Blades' or 'The guy you can stab with swords all you like and it won't do a damn thing, dammit!'" he said, nodding to the class. "And I'm here to make sure that all of you will be kicking major ass by the end of the year. Yes, even you!" He yelled, pointing at Neville. "Will be a force to be reckoned with!"

The entire class shot into chaos at that moment.

"Yes, I can read your minds. Now, since obviously you guys aren't as talented and awesome as I am, I've crafted a training regime that even you guys should be able to put up with!"

_Later, that month_

Jack Rakan sat on an enlarged couch, made to fit his rather extravagant tastes and too-large body. He was only wearing an open jacket that showed off the entirety of a body crafted by war, shaped by conflict and defined by unending combat. Absurdly long blond hair shook gently in the wind he had invoked entirely for the purpose of making his hair sway in a cool way.

He was relaxing as he watched his current class, that of the fifth year, stumble through an obstacle course that he'd designed one tuesday afternoon while drunk off his ass. Inspecting it now, it was far too easy, considering that most of them had managed to complete it (at times that would've made Nagi laugh so hard he'd cry), but he'd correct that later.

Then there was McGonagall, come right the f*ck out of nowhere. And she was screaming about how barbaric and ridiculous his classes were, and how she would go to Dumbledore because the old man couldn't be in his right mind if he allowed this.

"What kind of qualifications do you even have!? You have never gone to any form of school! I've looked at your resume, and your 'education' is listed as forty years of gladiatorial battles! That's no qualification to teach in a school as prestigious as Hogwarts." The old woman spoke.

If he were to be honest, Rakan would at least commend her for the concern for her students.

As it was, the amount of fucks Rakan gave could be counted with a fingerless hand, so he shooed her off. "Dumbledore couldn't pay for me to find and kill Tommy, so he went for the next best option, paying me to train someone who could." he said, shrugging. "Then one of my old pals bet me I couldn't train these brats to beat anyone with less than a year."

The Scotswoman wanted to strangle Dumbledore.

The man was so easily swayed by something like a bet? He had no self discipline! He was a gigantic danger to all the students!

_Later still..._

Ron blinked. He was Ron the Effing Bear Weasly, women tripped over themselves when he was in the vicinity and even Dark Lords trembled with the mere mention of his name. His price as a hitmage was so high not even the ministry could treat the expense casually, and he was only called in when the situation was really out of hand.

Unlike the rest of his family, he was filthy rich due to those odd jobs he took every now and then, like killing that roving band of dragons or slaughtering that rising Dark Lord in Central America as well as his army of Dark Bunnies.

So why was it that he could never be as famous, have as many fangirls or be as succesful as his best friend, one Harry James Potter?

Rakan patted him in the back. "It's the curse of the insanely cool side character. In many ways we're superior to the main character, but we'll never be as recognized as them." Explained the old man (Seriously, he had to be older than Dumbledore had been when he died at this point, how did he remain so relatively youthful!? Ron's hair was already getting grey, yet that guy's blond hair remained as shiny as forty years ago!), laughing as he did.

Well, at least Harry's daughter Rose had the mother of all crushes on him. He could take joy in that he had gotten one up over him that way. Even if she was the only one who recognized his awesomeness for what it truly was. Too bad she was his niece and forty years his junior...

Ron didn't watch the old man disappear, instead concentrating back on his newspaper. Ever since magic at large had been revealed to the muggle world, he'd been working on establishing a fanbase for himself. If only that Negi guy didn't keep stealing everyone's fangirls...


End file.
